


Grow out of it

by FreysGalli



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Coming Out, Emotional Manipulation, Gender Dysphoria, Kinda happy ending?, Language, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Trans Character, Trans Dick Simmons, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreysGalli/pseuds/FreysGalli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The military can change a person...and can make them realize some things about themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grow out of it

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, got a LOT to say at the end of this (so please read endnotes). Shout out to [slambam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slambam) for being an awesome beta and giving me the idea for their stupid nerd argument (and crying with me as I wrote this)!

Simmons walks through the door to his room and promptly locks it. Leaning back against the door and swiping a hand down his face, he side eyes the computer on his desk. He knows he has to do this. He said he would respond as soon as he was assigned to his first base, and, well, that was...that was months ago. 

Taking a deep breath, he walks over, moves the chair so it doesn’t scratch the floor, and slowly lowers himself to sit. He glares at the monitor for a minute before dragging a hand down his face and pressing a button to turn his desk lamp on and another to turn his computer on, his leg bouncing as the computer boots up. 

He sent plenty of email messages, but his parents (well, his _MOM_ ) wanted to see the smiling face of their eldest child. They...they hadn’t seen his face since his first month at Basic. It was easier to not acknowledge the problem. It was BETTER for all parties involved, but his mother was practically in tears in the last video because she hadn’t seen her darling child in… fuck, had it really been 10 months?

He glances at the icons on the desktop, and hovers over the icon for video calls. Soldiers are allowed to make direct calls in their off hours; he knows this, but...he clicks to make a video recording instead, buries his face in his hands, and growls in frustration. He’s a fucking coward, and he knows it. He doesn’t want to see their hurt and disappointment...again. Peeking between his fingers, he scowls at the recording window on his monitor, trying to prepare himself, trying to _keep himself together_. Lowering his hands, he sees his freshly shaven, frowning face. He smiles at his appearance for a second before glaring at his desk lamp, then adjusts it so the light doesn’t accent...things that he doesn’t want accented for _this_. 

He squints back at the monitor and notices that his bed is unmade. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he goes to fix it; then notices some socks he didn’t put away, and the rug is crooked, and, ok, he realizes he’s totally procrastinating, but he is really nervous, and cleaning helps him relax, ok? Walking back to his desk, he finds a stray food wrapper and frowns.

Suddenly the mess in his room makes sense. “Dammit, Grif.” Fucker probably snuck into his room again to nap. Dammit. 

Simmons pulls out a piece of paper and writes a reminder to change his door combination. Fuck, he needs to do a once over and check that certain _private_ things hadn't been tampered with, but...he looks back at the computer screen. Fuck he _needs_ to do _this_. Get it done with and out of the way.

He pulls back the chair so that he's better framed in the shot. He fiddles with the camera, so it's ever so slightly out of focus hoping that the combination of shitty lighting and blurriness makes it harder for his parents to notice anything wrong. Because nothing is wrong. Everything is normal. Perfectly normal and everything is how it _should_ be. It's-it's...

He takes a deep breath. Several actually. Steadying himself. Reminding his muscles how to put on the fake smile that placates his parents. Slightly parted lips, upturned corners. Keep chin angled slightly down. Crinkle the corners of his eyes (the key seller). He focuses his attention to his face. He thinks it's passable. Not his best, but...fuck it.

He presses the record button.

He swallows. He opens his mouth, but his voice is caught in his throat for a second. Then two...and three and fuck, he's hyperventilating. He stops the recording. Curls in on himself. Grabs at his short hair to the point his knuckles ache and the pulling stings his scalp. Both of his legs bounce in time with his racing heart, one synced to the “tha” and the other, “thump”. 

Fuck, he's such a goddamn coward. Can't call his parents face to face and can't even take the shittier route of sending them a stupid recording. This shouldn't be hard. The rational part of his brain _knows_ that, but he _knows_ his parents and _knows_ what's going to happen. And...better to do it now than later. Better to just...fuck, just get this over with. He-he can do this. He can do this and be done and this constant anxiety will simply…

He stills his legs and uncurls, takes a deep breath, and smashes the record button again. His face is red but the fake grin that's plastered across his face sells a little better. 

“H-hey Mom and Dad,” he winces at his cracking voice before going back to grinning. “Uh, how are you? It’s been awhile since I’ve sent any video messages. I’ve, um, been kinda busy with Basic. Sooo, uh, I-I hope everythings going ok!” His right leg starts bouncing again, and he fiddles with the fingers of his right hand.

“I got your last message about Dan getting married! That’s, uh, that’s great! I probably can’t make it being, y-you know, um, well, here. And judging by h-his lack of r-responses, I'm assuming he's still pis-ah-mad at me.” Simmons grabs his shaking leg to get it to stop. He wants to talk to Dan again. He wants to go see his younger brother and watch him walk his high school sweetheart down the aisle. However, Dan hasn't forgiven Simmons running off to join the army. Maybe Simmons will send him a video, too. Maybe he'll respond to that...

“But, uh, I, uh, got stationed to a new post! A place called Blood Gulch! As t-to how I’m doing. I’m…” _scared, happy, terrified,_ “... I’m ok. Um, so I. Ffff-uh-fudge.” He buries his face in his hands and his leg starts bouncing again. He wants to stop the recording but...he's gotten this far. He sighs and slides his hands down his face.

“I’ve been...I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately and growing up. And um,” He turns his head to the right, closes his eyes, and feels a prickle in the corners. He licks his dried lips and tries to pull any microscopic scrap of courage he has. “S-so being in the military has given me a lot of time to-to just think. I’ve done a lot of thinking lately. Probably a lot more than I should, but...haha well.” He glances back up at the camera before looking back down. “In case something...something happens. I guess…” 

He scratches his head and knows he _has_ to get this out. If something DOES happen, they should know. They shouldn't be surprised about this. “I-I guess I want you to know about...things.”

His mind floods with various moments of his past, swirling around, each one trying to be the main focus. All of his little doubts and thoughts. All of his memories and realizations that lead him to where he is now. He knows that chronological would make the most sense, but he doesn’t think it’s the best way to _explain_ it to them. Fuck he knew he should have written this down before getting started, but, fuck it, he goes with the loudest thought in his mind. 

“I don’t think I ever told you guys that I read the repair manual for dad’s old red car. He put it in the hallway bookshelf for some reason, and, uh, when I ran out of other books to read during the summer, I just picked it up and started reading it. Read that thing cover to cover back in...5th grade, I think?” He chuckles at the memory despite his nerves. He remembers keeping the old softcover book hidden under his pillow so his parents wouldn't know. “I didn’t comprehend any of it. No clue what ANY of it meant...but I hoped that dad’s car would break, and...and I could go out and help him fix it with-with what I learned. I never...uh...never got to use it though.” His smirk falters, and he pauses. 

His smile turns more into a grimace as he starts tapping his fingers together and looks above the camera as the painful part of the memory comes forward. His voice gets quieter and tighter as he continues. “Dad, uh, Dad told me he would teach me how to replace the starter. You always said you would, but you always ended up doing it when I wasn’t home. The last time I asked about it, you finally snapped at me and said it wasn’t a thing I needed to know. I, uh, I gave up after that. I was still...interested, but I didn't want to make you mad. So….” 

He feels the fucking tears trying to come and the lump in his throat grow bigger. He remembers that moment when his father finally snapped at him. The frustrated growl that preceded his biting words. His voice turned more dismissive before finally yelling at Simmons to put the toolbag back in the garage. The way he leaned back in his recliner and turned up the volume on the TV to drown out Simmons’s sniffles as he struggled to carry the toolbag in both of his tiny arms.

He blinks the tears away before continuing. “I really just...I really just wanted to impress you. I figured you didn’t want my help because you _knew_ I would be terrible at it. I-I accepted that and moved on from it. I figured I could try something else and...I mean, I knew I was really good at math, and I thought maybe...maybe that’s how I could do it? To get you to be proud of me.”

“But,” his voice loses its meekness and curdles into more of a sneer as he remembers the fight with his father. “I’ll never forget when I told you I wanted to do mathletes. You laughed. You told me that women’s softball and then basketball of all things would be a good experience for me.” He snorts, and his voice goes back to being more meek. “I hated it. My teammates were...they were ok. Sometimes, I guess? It was fine in the early days, but as time went on it all got...it all-all got worse.” 

He winces, thinking back to all of the pranks his teammates liked to pull on him. The name calling. When the main clique started spreading rumors about him trying to date people on the team. When his best friend abandoned him so she wouldn’t be harassed anymore...that hurt worse than the names and ‘pranks’ ever did.

“Mom told me to ignore it, and I-I stuck it out as long as I could. They got worse, but I didn't want to disappoint you guys. I powered through it the best I could in junior high. You guys were so upset when I didn’t make the high school teams, but, go-uh-gosh I was so r-relieved.” 

Relief was an understatement. Simmons cried when he saw that his name wasn’t on the list. His parents misinterpreted and thought he was upset because he didn’t make the team. His mom still made him his favorite dessert to try and “cheer” him up while his father complained and said that he didn’t deserve an award for failing. Good thing his dad had a weak spot for mom’s homemade brownies, too. 

He feels like the burden he's been carrying most of his life is being lifted from admitting this shit, but he can’t shut it off. The more... _revealing_ memories start flooding to the surface. All the things that he’s been analyzing about himself over the years. But there's one, one really big memory that always stood out looking back. The defining moment when things had to fall apart so he could piece himself back together. 

The stubborn tears in the corners of his eyes finally start falling, and, for once, he doesn’t care.

“D-do you remember the time Mom made me...” He swallows and grits his teeth. Nope. He’s gotta keep going. “When she made me put on the wedding dress? Cousin Cindy needed a wedding dress, and you offered yours so it could ‘stay in the family.’ Well, Cindy and I were the same size, so...you guys decided-decided I would be perfect to try it on for her. Heh. You were so pissed because I fought about putting it on. Then Mom kept pushing me to do it since it would be a nice thing for Cindy, and she guilted me about it nonstop. So I finally caved, and it was no surprise that I hated it.”

He was so pissed and upset. His mom had kept mentioning how much _money_ it would cost Cindy to get it tailored, but if Simmons would just put the dress on, she could get her friend here to do it for free. Then she mentioned how upset Cindy would be and her wedding would be ruined. Why was he being so unreasonable? Simmons, dear, it would only be a few minutes. They wouldn’t take pictures or anything, promise. That promise is what made him cave...too bad Simmons had to fix his Mom’s friend’s phone a week later and found the pictures. He went through the message history and found that the pictures had been sent to several people including his mom. He hated that picture. He hated the dress. He hated his mom and her friend for lying to him. He hated the way he looked. He really hated himself.

He has to look away from his face on the monitor. He can’t handle looking at himself as he grits his teeth to get through this because he HAS to do this. “You kept telling me how _pretty_ I was. How _beautiful_ I was, but, uh. I-I never felt...any of those things. Dan making fun of me for doing it felt more believable.” He starts to feel sick and wraps his arms around his torso. “It felt...wrong. Not only the dress, but the compliments, and you guys _cooing_ about me walking down the aisle one day.”

He sneers, and does his shitty impersonation of his dad. “‘Just you wait and see. One day you’ll find a man and settle down. You’ll grow out of this phase.’” Simmons sniffles and starts wiping the tears streaming down his face. He’s biting his lip trying to calm himself, so he can continue, hoping the pain in his lip will distract from the dull ache in his throat. He’s getting to the part he’s dreading: The Point. The whole fucking point of this bullshit. He plasters the fake smile when he looks back at the camera.

“Th-that stayed with me for a long ffff-fudging time: ‘growing out of it’. I thought I was wrong and fuc-messed up. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I felt it for YEARS, and I ignored it as much as I could. I tried. I tried _so_ hard to be _normal_. I tried liking things that _normal_ people would like. I tried doing the things you expected of me. I tried, but I was always a f-fu-frickin disappointment. I always messed up and liked something I _shouldn’t_ like math and science, programming, sci-fi, Dnd, and Legos.” 

His right hand grips tightly at his hair. “At some point I guess you stopped caring. I-I guess because you had Dan. Dan lived up in every way I couldn’t. He had friends, actually _liked_ sports, d-dated, he waswhat you wanted. You congratulated him on everything he did while you rolled your eyes at me and told me to be better. I needed to do better in sports! Do better grades! Get better friends!” He failed doing all of those. He failed at sports. His grades sucked because he was terrible at testing. His friends consisted solely of his DnD group, and they only kept Simmons around because he was the only one that would play a healing focus character and was a decent strategist. Once he joined the military, he never heard back from them despite the numerous emails he sent.

“By junior year I guess you guys didn’t care because y-you guys just let me do whatever….I think the worst part was I still cared what you guys thought even when I knew you didn’t care anymore….”

“I mean, I dated that one ass,er, asinine jerk and went to prom. I wore that stupid dress and posed for pictures, went to the dance, but it felt more like I was in a costume and putting on a hilariously shi-, um, shoddy play.” He pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes and leans back in his chair. “But everyone kept saying nice things, and I thought that would make things better, but it made it all WORSE. I felt more alienated from everyone because, well, compliments on your appearance is supposed to be a _good_ thing, but it always made me want to disappear. It made my skin crawl every time.” His hands reach back to start tugging at his hair again. 

“...For the longest time I held onto that I would ‘grow out of it,’” he whispered. “When the recruitment officer said the military would help me figure out who I really was, I honestly thought he was full of shhh-crap. I thought about the promotions and how proud it would make you. To show you that I _could_ do something. I thought the military was all about _action_ and not stupid tests. Boy, was I wrong, apparently there are tests for becoming an officer. Surprise surprise…but…” He leans forward and rests his forearms on his legs, and looks at the floor. “Those first few weeks of Basic SUCKED, but...but it made me...made me realize that…I-I’m never growing out of it.” He looks straight at the monitor, and stares hard at the recorded image of himself. “That I can never grow out of me because I am _me_. That I’m not as fucked up as I thought.” He flinches at his uncensored slip, but, his parents are about to have a bigger reason to hate him.

“S-So I guess this is my really weird way of explaining and saying…” He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Not wanting to fuck this up. He’s thought about this for a long time. However he can’t make his eyes meet the camera. He’s picturing his parents there now, managing to avoid thinking like that for this long, but he can’t for this part. They’re there. Silently judging him.

“Mom. Dad. I never came out as the daughter you wanted, but maybe that’s because I was never your daughter to begin with. I was,” he feels his throat tighten, his words release in a rush, “I was actually your son.” He realizes this is the first time he’s said this out loud. He kinda lets the moment settle for himself. “I’m-I’m a guy, and not...not your precious girl. Not your pretty daughter. I’m-I’m your eldest son.” 

There. It’s out. He’s said it. There are tears streaming down his face. His voice is cracking all over the place, but he’s said it. It’s the scariest thing he’s done short of being in actual combat. 

“I-I know this is probably a shock, but it’s t-the main reason I haven’t sent you videos or video called you back because I’ve been-I’ve been transitioning. T-The medics have been setting me up with safe treatments, and I’ve done all the research. So, there-there shouldn’t be any worries about my health. I know I should have talked to you first. I know, but I needed to do this for me. I needed to make sure that this felt right, and this is the first time in...forever that I’ve felt comfortable in my own skin.”

“I’m sure this is going to take some time to take in, and I’m s-sorry for the secrets and the mysteries. I really didn’t mean to make you so upset Mom. I’ve wanted to send you something more than the emails, but I’ve been scared. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and this is probably the last fucking thing you want or need to deal with, especially with me out here, but I can’t. I can’t keep pretending and lying anymore. I can’t let you keep wondering if anything's wrong, so there it is.” He finally leans forward and adjusts the camera slightly. His bloodshot eyes and red face coming into better focus. He knows it’s still his face, but the angles and shape is probably a lot different than what his parents remember. It’s going to be jarring for them, he knows.

“I still get all my messages and emails forwarded to me, but t-the guys here and the Army know me as R-Richard. I-I found Mom’s old baby name book back in highschool when I was looking for Dnd character names. It was what she had picked if I-I was born, um....B-but, it, uh, it fits pretty well according to one m-member of my squad.” He smirks at that. “Y-you guys would probably strangle him. I fight with him a thousand times worse than Dan. It's honestly amazing that we haven't killed each other yet. Maybe...maybe I'll get a picture of my squad and send it. So you can see who I'm talking about in my...in my emails. Overall they’re, uh, great guys! Sarge is...my Commanding Officer. Lopez is a, well, robot. Grif’s an obnoxious slob, but at least I can have interesting conversations on occasion with him. Donut is...He’s, uh, well...he’s, erm. I’m still trying to figure out my opinion of the Rookie. He just got back a few--” 

_***WHAM*** _

Simmons jumps and whips his head towards his door. He hears Sarge’s muffled yells and Grif’s apathetic “Yes, sir.” Grif’s distinctive clunking goes past his door as well as Sarge’s continuous insults. Right. He had things he needed to get done. Important things. Um, maybe doing stock of their supplies or cleaning all of their equipment? Or...anything that wasn’t...what he was currently doing.

“So I th-think I better go. I hope you guys know that I miss you. I hope...I hope to hear from you soon. Send my love and congrats to Dan and his fiancée if...if that's possible. Love and miss you, Mom and Dad. Um, bye.” 

Simmons awkwardly waves as he leans in to stop the recording. When the camera is off he rests his head on his desk waiting for his racing heart to slow down. Once he feels like his heart isn’t going to explode out of his chest, he sends the video unedited. He doesn’t think he could handle watching himself go through all of that again. Knows if he opens it up the file to watch, he’ll never send it.

As he watches the loading bar fill and eventually ping to let him know it’s sent, there's a huge relief for a moment. A calm in his head that he hasn’t had in awhile. It’s...kind of nice actually. All of it is out of his hands. He can’t control if his parents will still accept him and love him or...

At that train of thought, the dread and second thoughts start filling his head. He could try and cancel the email before it gets to his parents. Things won’t change and his parents won’t know. It’ll all be...like it’s always been. His mother upset that she doesn’t see her child. His father staring bored while giving an occasional jeer at Simmons’s slip ups. His brother’s silence. It’ll all go back to that. Back to norm-....

He feels his mind trying to go into an anxiety loop. He stops and quickly goes into the routine of getting out of civies and putting on his armor. Armor in place, he goes up to the roof of the base to stare across the canyon. It’s perfect since Grif is on duty, and he’s always an excellent distraction. The fighting and bickering gives his mind a new focus, a new thing to fight against. Even if it’s just to prove his asshole teammate wrong. He smiles as he makes his way to the roof. 

He finds Grif leaning against one of the walls staring out across the canyon. 

“What the fuck are you doing up here, Simmons?” Grif pushes himself off the wall. “Why aren’t you in the base enjoying the AC?”

“And leave you up here alone, asshole?” Simmons snipes back. “Might as well hand the Blues the keys to the base. You were, what, ten minutes away from taking a nap?”

“You wound me.” He clutches his hands over his heart in mock pain, rifle balanced in the crook of his elbow. “Look, give me _some_ credit. It was more like five.”

Simmons snorts and shakes his head. There’s a few minutes of silence as they both look out to the center of the canyon, occasionally seeing flashes of blue at the other base.

“Ok, seriously, why the fuck are you up here? Don’t you have some Star Trek novels to read or cards to organize or something?”

Simmons turns his head towards Grif. He could almost swear that...does Grif sound _concerned_?

“I just...I needed to clear my head.” Grif turns his head exasperated, and Simmons watches as Grif’s chest expands, preparing to berate him. He looks back out across the canyon trying to think of a way to avoid confrontation. He doesn’t think he could handle serious bickering. “Um, just g-got mail from family and, yeah, a lot to take in, but pretty minor stuff. It’s fine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Grif tilt his head. “Ok? And? If it was something minor you would be counting something, not coming up here to--”

This was not going according to plan. “Can we please talk about something else?” he mumbles, his foot tapping and hands flexing around his rifle. 

Grif stands still and looks at Simmons. Simmons could tell that Grif was analyzing him...or maybe Grif was debating something...or...fuck, it was hard to tell with these stupid fucking helmets on. Either way, Grif was supposed to NOT care, and they were supposed to talk or argue about something _stupid,_ things that didn’t _matter._ Grif wasn’t supposed to cause him _MORE_ stress. That was the _point_ of coming up here! Grif should know the routine by--

“Shark vs Bear.” Grif straightens and focuses on the door that lead inside the base. “Who would win?” 

Simmons’s brain halts. “What?” 

Grif turns his head to focus back on Simmons. “If you put a shark and a bear together and had them fight who would win?”

Simmons stares incredulously at him for a minute before slowly asking, “Are they fighting on land or in water?”

“Oh, uhh, land?”

“Well, the bear would clearly win since a shark can’t breathe air and, it doesn’t have limbs, dumbass.” Simmons snickers. Grif makes a motion that reminds him of someone rolling their eyes.

“Ok, _smartass_. Shark’s got human limbs and can breathe air.”

“Well, now you’re giving the shark a potentially unfair advantage.”

“How?!”

Simmons starts spouting off random advantages human limbs would give such as the ability to use tools. Grif thinks it’s dumb and gaining limbs doesn’t mean a sudden understanding of how tools work. Simmons argues that tool usage would come with the shark learning how to use its limbs. They both argue and yell about the complexities of how human limbs would even be _positioned on_ a shark, then how would said shark fight against various animals. A few hours later, their argument gets interrupted by Sarge hollering at them to shut up and get their damn rations.

As they walk down, Grif points a finger at Simmons. “This isn’t over. I still don’t think a gorilla would pose much of a threat.”

Simmons snorts, “Whatever, you’re just thinking about the ‘coolness’ factor and not the actual science behind it.”

Grif tugs his helmet off once they’re in the base. As soon as his head is free, he rolls his eyes and smirks at Simmons. “You are such a goddamn nerd.” Grif continues walking while Simmons pulls off his own helmet and grins after his teammate.

As shitty as being in this war is, at least here, for once in his life, Simmons is comfortable being himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this at some point. I have two more chapters that I would like to write up that involve Simmons "planning for the worst" and then a heart to heart with Grif about their pasts. I'm participating in the [RvB Big Bang](http://rvbficwars.tumblr.com/tagged/rvb-big-bang), so that's going to eat up a lot of my time. I'm going to be working on the main story for my ["Last Responders AU"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/455044), so be on the look out for that!
> 
> If there's anything problematic or if there's some tags I should add, please let me know. I'm kinda new to...well all of this? Also I would not mind some critique messaged my way either! Feel free to message me on here or tumblr ([piratesimmons](https://piratesimmons.tumblr.com/) or [piratelynlyn](https://piratelynlyn.tumblr.com/))! Also feel free to yell at me about Grimmons and other stuff!!!
> 
> Ok so there's a few more things. This...got a lot more personal than I initially intended, so this next bit is kinda personal-ish...
> 
> I know people are kind of tired of the "coming out" trope, but as a person that ISN'T out to their parents yet and had a terrifying conversation with their mom recently...I really needed to get this out of my head and off my chest. The conversation that he's recording is similar to the "rehearsed speech" I have in my head for when I eventually do come out to my parents...only it will probably be a thousand times more rambly. Some of the things he's talked about are things I've experienced or they're random things I've HC for him, so there's that, too. 
> 
> The title of the fic is based off what my parents and SEVERAL other relatives have told me in the past while going through my "Tomboy stage" that I never grew out of. Like Simmons, I held onto the "growing out of it" line for years, hoping it would just click one day. I've read a lot of stories (of the irl personal and fic variety) and talked to a few people about being trans, and it's really helped make it easier-ish to accept who I am over the past year. It's still a process, and some days are bad, others are good. Hearing and reading this stuff makes me realize "that I’m not as fucked up as I thought." That I'm not alone in this. I have friends that care and a community that I can relate to and talk with, and, jeez, that's helped so much.
> 
> So hopefully this helps someone else out. Know that you're fine and you're you and you're normal and valid and amazing. 
> 
> Thanks for reading all of this! I love you guys!


End file.
